Pyjamas
by ThisWasMe
Summary: John doesn't like wearing pyjamas, Sherlock is determined to change him into a pyjama loving doctor, with a little help from Lestrade of course. Random one-shot based around the little idea floating around my mind that John doesn't wear pyjamas to bed like Sherlock does.


**A/N Okay so this is in no shape or form fantastic but it was just a little something which I dreamt up a few nights ago and quickly typed out at 3am so apologies for any typos or just general gibberish.**

"Nice underpants" Sherlock muttered from the sofa as John shuffled into the kitchen, discreetly observing the slightly small grey boxers currently clinging to John's rear.

As he shoved a mug under the running tap John glared half-heartedly out of sleepy eyes at the lanky detective who was sprawled elegantly over the side of john's chair, fingers steepled under his chin and dressing gown floating over the chair arm moving slowly with the inconsistent swinging legs, "Shut up."

"No need to be rude, John," the taller replied whilst flicking his feet onto the floor and pushing up to stride over to the table in the kitchen. His eyes never leaving John as he dropped into the char pushed under the edge, "and certainly no need to change out of your sleeping attire just to get a glass of water."

John shut off the tap and turned, leaning back on the work tops and watching Sherlock, "what do you mean 'change out of your sleeping attire'?" John mimicked the other's question and took a sip out of his mug, "this is what I wear to bed."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed closer together, chin moving forward to rest on interlocked hands, "you do? But what about pyjamas?" The taller looked back up at the doctor, eyes squinting slightly.

John dropped, exhausted and unwilling to have another debate with Sherlock, into the chair opposite the other man. "I don't wear pyjamas, Sherlock. I sleep like this."

Sherlock sighed, stood and began pacing around the table, steadying himself on the fridge and worktops when his legs began to stumble slightly. "But what about if you need to get up suddenly and need to go somewhere or do something or just leave?"

John followed the taller man with his eyes, taking a quick sip of water before replying, "and why would I need to suddenly leave?"

Suddenly, stopping and leaning on the fridge, Sherlock began to reel off a list of reasons, ticking each one off on his fingers, "a fire, an emergency call, Mrs Hudson screams, the door is broken down, somebody attacks you, Moriarty appears, Lestrade barges in, there's someone with a gun pointed at your head. Need I continue?"

John sighed and shook his head slowly, "no, no, I get the point already. But, just so you know, if someone had a gun pointed at my head I would not be moving an inch no matter what the hell I was wearing and if Lestrade barges in he can bloody well bugger off."

The consulting detective laughed slightly, coming to slump back into the chair opposite John, "so you should wear pyjamas, John. They're rather comfortable and extremely practical."

John raised an eyebrow slightly at the taller of the pair, "yes, for those of us who have silk sleepwear, yes."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, his eyes instantly brightening up, "I'll get you some silk pyjamas, John, they're very nice! No! You can have mine!"

John raised the other eyebrow to match the other resting high on his forehead, "Sherlock… Are you alright? You seem… strange...er?" Sherlock laughed again and John slowly started to see the slightly reddened cheeks and bloodshot eyes of his friend, "Sherlock have you been drinking?"

Sherlock shook his head fondly at the smaller man, "of course not, John! You know I don't touch alcohol"

John dropped his head onto the table, slowly looking up at Sherlock, "you haven't been using again have you, Sherlock?"

The taller man's face turned down to the table as he softly murmured, "it was only for an experiment, John."

John stood up, his eyebrows moving closer together as he was about to start listing the health problems which drugs could lead to as the door was suddenly thrown open. An out of breath Lestrade stood in the doorway about to start explaining the new case that he needed help with when he took in the sight of John standing in the kitchen of 221B with tight grey boxers and his hand on his hip at the start of another health rant, "nice underpants." He interjected sarcastically before rushing into a description of the newest case.

Sherlock raised his head, a smile playing on his lips as John sank into the chair once more and murmured, "I need some pyjamas."


End file.
